


i'll be by your side

by putthatbottledowngrantaire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, M/M, Olympics AU, Sochi AU, Sports, oh look another sochi au jumping on the bandwagon, skater!jolras, skier!taire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:22:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putthatbottledowngrantaire/pseuds/putthatbottledowngrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team France arrives in Sochi, ready for the Olympics.</p><p>Enjolras, with his best friend and assistant coach Combeferre, is ready to face a third Games representing his country in the figure skating.</p><p>Grantaire, with his best (read: worst) friend Eponine, is not 'ready' per se, but hey it's his third Games too - he's used to it!</p><p> </p><p>aka yet another Sochi AU for reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't resist. i tried, i really did.

Grantaire feels eerily at home in airports now. The gray, neutral walls and the perpetually awful carpet that seems to the global standard are like old friends – the number of times he has propped himself up against one of the walls in a terminal, sat on the coffee stained floor, and slept while waiting for a flight is obscene; Eponine kept count for a while of the number of airports they visited; though she soon gave up for fear of going slightly mad from the sheer number.

It is almost as if airports are the one place Grantaire can come close to relaxing properly. In an airport, sitting on the floor there is nothing expected of him. There is only the hum of the people moving around him, all going about their own business, whether it be rushing to a flight, trying to find the baggage claim, simply looking for something that isn’t aeroplane food – sounds which have become like a lullaby to the scruffy-haired Frenchman.

 

It was an airport in which Grantaire found himself now, unfortunately not leaning against a wall and sleeping or, perhaps even more sadly, not on the hunt for duty-free vodka for later – he was in Russia, for Christ’s sake! Instead Grantaire was standing with the other passengers from his flight, including his best friend and self-proclaimed cheer-captain Eponine and about twenty members of Team France, waiting for his suitcase to trundle around the _extraordinarily_ slow conveyer. He could hardly keep his eyes open he was so exhausted, but damned if he was going to miss his bag and have to wait for it to come full-circle (something he did a good 50% of the time and something that provided endless amusement for Eponine, damn her.)

He saw his duffel finally come around, instantly recognizing his old battered friend between the sea of much fancier and more expensive metallic cases – his slightly frayed brown travelling companion with its array of labels around the shoulder strap, testament to his excessive flight time. He yanked hard to pull it out from under a new silver piece of Samsonite luggage – a piece of luggage, Grantaire noticed, bore a strap around it that was rainbow, awfully like a Gay Pride flag - accidently dislodging it in the process and making it fall off the belt and clatter to the floor. Before he could heave it back on to the line however and overly familiar voice made him pause, ‘Grantaire! Wait, that one’s mine!’ Wincing, he turned to see the golden head of France’s number one ice skater shouldering through to the front of the crowd to claim his bag.

‘Of course, I should have guessed – who else would risk that decoration? Enj, have to be careful with that…’

 

Enjolras frowned at him for a moment. ‘What? I’m not hiding. It’s something I believe in and I refuse to be quiet. I’ll do what I like.’ The man had lowered his voice to an angry whisper and his eyed had taken on a look that _did things_ to Grantaire. _Things_ that needed to be suppressed immediately, Jesus Grantaire, pull yourself together.

The stories about Enjolras threatening to boycott the Games rose to the top of Grantaire thoughts – clearly they were true. Reports had said that only Combeferre, his assistant coach and closest friend, had been able to talk Enjolras down and convince him to attend. Grantaire certainly admired some of Enjolras’ convictions, however futile.

‘Point still stands, careful, yeah? And speaking off, jeez Enjolras, how much does that thing weigh? It could kill someone if it fell on them!’

‘Well, maybe you should have taken a little more care retrieving your own bag and you wouldn’t have to worry. Can’t have you injuring your legs now can we?’

‘Better mine than yours, deary,’ Grantaire replied with a wink, Enjolras narrowing his eyes in response. Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Eponine, who had managed to find her bag (she called it Gertie) and who appeared at Grantaire’s elbow, slipping her arm through his. Grantaire smiled saccharinely at Enjolras, turning then to his friend, ‘Good to go now?’

‘I’m ready if you are,’ she replied, sending a glance Enjolras’ way, and refocusing on Grantaire, ‘Are _you_ ready?’

‘Most certainly,’ he said, raising a warning eyebrow at Eponine. Now was not the time for her to a) fangirl over the lithe yet powerful form of the gold medal-winning blonde in her vicinity, or b) bring up any feelings Grantaire may have for said-blonde.

‘Fine,’ she said, disappointed, failing to mask her pout.

‘Enjolras,’ Grantaire said, nodding his head at France’s darling, ‘always a pleasure’

‘And you, Grantaire’

 

The conversation should have ended there – Grantaire hoped it would end there, but before he could pull Eponine away she decided to prolong the suffering a few seconds longer. ‘Will you be at the Welcome Drinks tonight, Enjolras?’

Enjolras looked confused for a moment, as if he had forgotten that he was essentially the guest of honour at the party tonight, tipped to be announced as the flag bearer for the Opening Ceremony. ‘Um, yes. Yes, I’ll be there for a bit’

Eponine smiled widely, beginning to drag Grantaire and Gertie away, sending over her shoulder, ‘I’m sure Grantaire looks forward to seeing you there!’

 

Grantaire pinched her side. Hard. And she totally deserved it.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras stood for a moment longer after his team-mate and Eponine departed, watching them as they were joined by Feuilly and Bahorel of the Hockey team, and Courfeyrac, France’s favourite snowboarder and flirt (as voted by the French public in a tabloid poll) Courfeyrac noticed Enjolras and acknowledged him with a salute, the two growing close after Vancouver, Courf’s first Games.  Enjolras smiled and raised a hand to wave, before Courf swung his head back around to give Eponine a kiss on the cheek in greeting and Grantaire a fist-pump.

 

Eponine was around events so often that she was practically a given, as integral as the snow and the ice.  Given that his field and Grantaire’s were so different they rarely attended the same Championships or were even in the same country.  Grantaire had been rising through the ranks of the aerial freestyle skiing for years, having placed in the top ten in his second games in 2010. 

 

Enjolras’ interest in the man had started when they were both the youngest members of Team France in their first games, a whole twelve years ago now.  Unfortunately for their coaches, the two young men had not got along – very inconvenient when, as the youngest, they were expected to spend a lot of time together.  Their animosity cooled over the games, each warming to the other, yet they had never seen entirely eye-to-eye – a fact that frustrated Enjolras, and yet had not prevented the skater from watching Grantaire’s career progress in awe.  The raw power of the man was incredible, marked constantly for the height on his jumps and the difficulty, and subsequent danger, of his tricks.  Grantaire was a natural, landing jumps he had absolutely no right to consistently.  Enjolras watched videos of competitions, YouTube’d interviews with the man, only to see him talk down his talents, emphasizing his faults – watching Grantaire be his own biggest critic, as is the want of many professional athletes. 

 

Over the years, Enjolras found the need to tell Grantaire exactly what he thought of him augment, the idea of getting Grantaire to believe in himself at all taking root and growing without Enjolras noticing until it was too late.

 

Enjolras was brought out of his revelry by the familiar sight of Combeferre’s suitcase, a simple black, yet well-worn classic with its bright blue locks on the zippers.  Combeferre was a big fan of his locks, ever practical.  Enjolras pulled it from the belt and took a case in each hand to make his way back through the now much-diminished crowd to where Combeferre was seated next to a pillar.

 

‘Got them!’ Enjolras called out with a smile, returned by his best friend.  Combeferre pushed himself onto his feet and took his bag from Enjolras.  ‘You okay with that, Ferre?’ Enjolras asked as they moved off, walking at his ‘Combeferre pace’ to accommodate Ferre’s limp.

 

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at Enjolras,  ‘Enj, you ask me that question every single time and I always say the same thing, yes, I’m fine.’

 

‘Just checking’

 

Combeferre gave him a small smile, ‘I know.  Thank-you for ‘checking’’

 

 

 

Under the same coach, the two had grown up together, coming from the same town and meeting at the skating rink on the day of their first ever lesson.  Combeferre was a natural from the start.  He wobbled a few times when first skating out onto the ice and then steadied.  Enjolras followed behind the boy and copied his movements, perhaps learning more from the other blonde than the instructor that day – not that the instructor was paying much attention to many in the class, mostly his eyes were lighting up watching Ferre master the basics with little guidance.

 

Enjolras imagines that that moment, watching Ferre skate for the first time, was what it felt like to be in the room when Mozart toddled up to his first piano and test the keys or pluck at the string of a violin; and when they came back the next week for their second lesson it was surely like watching Wolfgang compose for the first time. 

 

The two young boys quickly progressed, earning them their own lessons with just the two of them together, leaving the others so far behind them in their wake, and yet with Enjolras constantly behind Ferre, looking up to him.  They grew closer and closer as the weeks and months went by and within the first year Enjolras sat in the audience as Combeferre was presented his first gold medal and he clapped louder than anyone and Combeferre stood proud on the podium.

 

They trained together, travelled together, work-shopped routines together and performed for each other, constantly bettering each other just by the other’s presence.  They developed a friendship that seemed destined and that still remained today.

 

Enjolras was there for almost all of Ferre’s firsts.  His first jump, his first fall, his first triple, his first quad.  His first knee injury.

 

Enjolras had been the first one out to his friend when his left leg gave way, skating as fast as he could across the ice to Ferre from where he had been watching him practice a routine, landing his Russian split, crying out in pain and crumpling to the ice clutching at his knee.  They were sixteen, two years out from an Olympics and Combeferre had torn his ACL.

 

Enjolras was there when Combeferre woke up from his knee reconstruction and helped him through his rehab as Combeferre would sit in the stands beside the rink and help Enjolras progress.

 

Twelve months later and Combeferre was back on the ice – one year out from the Games.  Enjolras qualified but Combeferre didn’t, his fitness and confidence suffering from the break.  Combeferre was watching this time as Enjolras at seventeen looked straight down the barrel of the camera before skating out on the ice, made a ‘C’ with one hand and put the other over his heart, and won the bronze medal for France.

 

Combeferre continued skating, regaining his confidence, slowly rebuilding his jumps until finally he could muster the courage to pull a Russian split, which he landed perfectly.  Combeferre slowly got back to his best, Enjolras joking that the order was restored to the world now that Ferre was winning again and Enj merely coming second.

 

Enjolras had been _just checking_ ever since Combeferre’s final injury just before Vancouver.  The knee blew again.  The reconstructed ligament tearing free as Ferre was merely skating along next to Enj, chatting away.  Combeferre knew what had happened instantly, and Enjolras tried his hardest not to panic. The knee was put back together a second time but that was it for Combeferre, his Vancouver journey was over and he turned instead to helping coach his brother-in-arms.

 

Before skating out at Vancouver, Enjolras had repeated his gesture for Combeferre from four years previously and brought home the gold.  In the post-event interview, Enjolras declared Ferre his inspiration and guide, tears streaming down his face as he described his pain at not being able to compete with his best friend.  Combeferre since then had become somewhat of an icon in France and his fame grew exponentially, something that Enjolras apologized for profusely and Combeferre cannot help but laugh about.

 

 

 

‘By the way,’ Combeferre asked, after a period of silence on their stroll down the corridor of the terminal, ‘was that Grantaire you were talking with before?’

 

‘Yes.  Why?’

 

‘No reason…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please come and chat!  
> i'm going back to uni soon and get bored easily - ironically, my writing output increases when i have actual work to do...
> 
>  
> 
> putthatbottledowngrantaire.tumblr.com
> 
> supervirginenjolras.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

The two friends, with the assistance of officials navigated the airport and located a taxi to take them to the Olympic village and finally to their home, and that of Team France and the rest of the world, for the next seventeen days.  Enjolras dropped his suitcase on the bed and practically sprinted to the shower, desperate to wash off that post-flight grime and the disgusting feeling that he always will associate with air travel.  Combeferre and Enjolras managed to argue a case for them to share a room, even if Ferre wasn’t strictly speaking an athlete – the things that the two men could achieve when their powers were combined cannot be fathomed.

 

Combeferre in the meantime decided to investigate the rest of their building.  The room next door by coincidence, housed Grantaire and a good friend of his (hell, of anyone who had the pleasure to meet him) Jean Prouvaire, the short-track speed skater.  After talking to them for a few minutes, Jean Prouvaire – ‘Guys, Jehan, please!’ – decided that the best way to discover who was behind the other doors in the corridor was to go along and knock on all of them and wait for athletes to emerge; and promptly did just that.

 

Bahorel and Feuilly were roommates, as usual and were across the hall, with the rest of the Hockey team in the adjacent rooms.  Courfeyrac answered his door and proudly walked out to join the conversation without a shirt on, making Jehan a little flustered and Grantaire somewhat amused.

 

Other athletes showed their faces as well, though no-one else joined in the discussion of Ferre, Grantaire, Jehan, and Courf, the four of them off in their own little world and lost in their conversation – discussing everything from past Games to the current political climate to their favourite movies. 

 

It was half an hour before Enjolras came out of his room as well, his hair still dripping slightly.  There were few things that Enjolras enjoyed more than a long warm shower, especially at the Games as a way to relax (and certainly very few that Enjolras would actually _admit_ to enjoying more).

 

As is the way, as soon as Enjolras joined in Grantaire tensed up and Enj took exception to his views, or more correctly a lack of them, turning the discussion into a heated debate on Enjolras’ side, met by nonchalance and sarcasm by the skier.  Courfeyrac sent a look Combeferre’s way, one that was missed by the Enjolras and Grantaire too engrossed in each other.  The response from Combeferre was also missed – the sharp shake of his head and narrowing of his eyes.

 

He just knew that Courfeyrac was thinking about a discussion that they had had often – that instead of just allowing their friends to metaphorically butt heads, Courf should just smoosh their heads together (read: lips) and be done with it; Combeferre had eventually managed to talk him out of it last Games, however it looked like it was a conversation that needed repeating.  Although, when Ferre tuned back into the words being spoken, watching like at a tennis match, if the conversation with Courf came up again he might just this time be swayed – especially if Enjolras remained this goddamn prickly for the rest of the event.

 

The golden man’s reply to one of Grantaire’s comments was fortunately cut short by one of the leaders of the support team, Cosette, a petite woman who was the nicest person on earth until you offended her or her friends, appearing at his shoulder. 

 

‘I see you two are getting along well as always,’ she said brightly, a smile on her face.  ‘Do try to be friends, or at least comrades for the next seventeen days, okay?  I really don’t want to have to smack you over the heads to encourage team bonding.’  That said she turned to everyone else in the group, ‘How is everyone else?  Good?  I’m so glad to finally be here!  Four years is such a long time between drinks,’ she said, throwing an arm around Jehan’s shoulder and standing on tiptoes to hug him properly, planting a kiss on each cheek.

 

Courfeyrac stepped up to her to kiss her cheeks as well, ‘How’s the fiancé?’

 

‘Marius is just fine.  He told me to say hello to you – and hinted that I should hint to you that he wants to catch up for some drinks.  He’s suffering a bit of separation anxiety.’

 

‘I do have that effect on people,’ Courf replied with a wink.

 

‘So I’ve heard, yet not experienced.’

 

Courfeyrac feigned hurt at the comment, but was simply glad that Marius wanted to catch up again – between training, preparation and events he hadn’t been able to see Marius in much too long a time, especially considering they survived university together.  Cosette laughed at the man, then stepping out of the group addressed all those who were mingling in the corridor, ‘Just a reminder that the Welcome is at six o’clock, I’m sure you’ll all find your way to the function room and I’ll see you all there!  A bientôt!’

 


	4. Chapter 4

A party where Grantaire couldn’t drink was not a party; it was a torture device. Eponine was probably loving it – she would chuckle at Grantaire whimpering noises every time her red wine would accidently travel under his nose – however, Grantaire had lost his friend to Combeferre about half an hour ago.

Leaning against the wall at the back of the room, a sad half-empty glass of coke in his hand, he watched the athletes, friends, family, and support staff mingle and chat with each other, reminiscing about previous meetings, reacquainting themselves, bitching about the state of the ice.

Grantaire was definitely not in a mood to mingle. He wanted booze and bed.

His eyes, as is their unfortunate want, found Enjolras standing off to the side of the room. Apparently he didn’t feel like chatting either – not that he really ever was one for the inane babble. Grantaire decided against going up to talk to him; both men simply remained standing, alone and apart.

Eventually when the speeches started, Eponine navigated her way back to her antisocial scruffy best friend, ruffling his curls when she found him, ‘Enjolras is over there, you know.’ Combeferre joined Enjolras at his left, Courfeyrac appearing at his right, in a sight that was most common to everyone in the French team - those three and their holy trinity of friendship seemingly no one else could match.

The look that washed across Grantaire's face wasn't hidden well enough from Eponine, who nodded, ‘Thought you did.’

 

 

In a shock to no one the night included Enjolras being given the honour of flag bearer for the Opening Ceremony, proudly walking up to the stage and shaking multiple hands before giving a short speech. Enjolras speaking made everyone sit up and listen – his love for the country and for his sport was palpable, and touched everyone in the room, all cheering loudly when he finished and took up the flag to give it a practice wave; a dazzling smile lit up his face as he looked around the room, stopping and locking eyes with Grantaire.

For the next thirty seconds, Grantaire could not hear the cheers of the others around him. His blood rushed in his ears and it was as if with every beat of his heart is was chanting at him, _oh shit oh shit oh shit_. He was brought back to reality by a light tap on the cheek from Eponine, who had noticed that the man next to her had stopped breathing entirely and was going a lovely shade of red.

 

As soon as Enjolras hopped off the stage, Grantaire bolted back to his room and shut the door.

Bed, definitely time for bed. 

Eponine knocked on the door, Grantaire knowing that he was better off opening the door for her – she might kick it down otherwise. He groaned as he got out of bed, and stuck his head out the door to see Eponine leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.

‘Are we going to talk about this at all?’

‘I’d prefer we didn’t, y’know’

‘Yeah, look, that was a rhetorical question – there is really no choice in the matter’

‘Ep, I’m tired okay? Can we do this another time?’

‘Nope, we can do it now. Five minutes – and then I’ll let you crawl back into your bed.’

Grantaire sighed and opened the door wider, letting her in. ‘Five minutes and then you are banished’

Eponine sat down on the end of his bed and nodded, ‘Why did you escape tonight?’

‘You know why,’ Grantaire replied, getting back onto the mattress and putting his legs under the covers.

‘Enjolras,’ Eponine supplied

‘Obviously.’

‘It’s not any different from the other times is it? You have been to two Games before, been at championships together, how is this different?’

‘I don’t know, Ep – he looked at me and I thought I was melting’

Eponine didn't reply for a moment, surveying the man before her eyes, before shaking her head, ‘You’re a bit of a mess’

‘Tell me something I don’t know. Are you going to try to be helpful or…?’

‘Sorry. But it is getting to a point you have to do something about this,' she thought about that for a moment, 'Actually, I think that ship has sailed – like, _before you fell hopelessly for him_.’

‘I’ve decided I’m planning on avoiding him for the foreseeable future. Sounds like a plan to me,’ he said, wriggling down in the bed to lie down and yawning. He pulled the covers up to his nose, ‘Your five minutes are up.’

Eponine sighed loudly, though knew that she wasn’t going to get much more out of him – this conversation was going to go nowhere in the next few hours, no matter how long she persisted, or how long she sat on the end of the bed.

She stood up and pointed at his face, ‘Don’t think this is over by a long shot. I’m giving you a reprieve tonight. You won’t be so lucky next time.’ She leant down to give Grantaire a kiss on his exposed forehead, ‘Sleep tight, R. Your plan sucks by the way.’

Grantaire waited until the door had been shut behind her before whispering, ‘I know.’

 

An hour and a half later, Jehan silently entered the room and padded over to his bed, crawling in with a contented sound that made a still wide-awake Grantaire finally smile in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uni is back lolz


	5. Chapter 5

The Opening Ceremony was held three days later, Enjolras leading his team into the stadium.   Always a fan favourite, the crowds screamed for him – drawn in by his extraordinary talent and obscene good looks. Grantaire could sympathise as he walked with the rest of the team, flanked by his friends; Courfeyrac desperately trying to get him to smile wider and wave harder, shoving a camera constantly in his face for selfies. Much to the chagrin of his coach, Bossuet, Grantaire had spent yesterday desperately wanting to get back to his room and constantly checking the time to make sure that he wouldn’t miss tuning into the beginning of the telecast and the start of the Games’ first event. Grantaire pretended it was for the sheer joy of watching Men’s Figure Skating and not to see the work of one man in particular.  He was lying to himself; everyone knew it – though only Eponine was heartless enough to mention it.

 

Bossuet wanted to keep talking about the state of the snow and how lucky France was that he wasn’t out there representing them because ‘if some of these skiers can’t avoid the shit, then imagine me out there’.  Grantaire finally convinced him to call it a day after much protesting and whining, ‘Go and find Joly will you!  I’m sure you too can find a quiet spot for a while…’ he said with a wink.  For those in the know, Bossuet had been seeing the team doctor Joly for about eighteen months now, and if most the team wouldn’t find out then Putin sure as hell wouldn’t.

 

All the men had taken to the ice for the first time, though none of them drew in the crowd like Enjolras.  As is his tradition, Enjolras gestured for Combeferre - the camera showing the smiling yet visibly nervous face of the assistant coach, chewing on his fingers. No matter how many times Combeferre saw Enj skate, he had to think of every outcomes – and some of them weren’t great. His nerves, as they were for the majority of the time though, were gone by the time his friend finished his short program skate, perfectly in time with the music and with only the most minor of errors.  The spectators, having spent the past two minutes and fifty seconds fixated on Enjolras’ grace and clear passion.

 

He got off the ice after thanking the crowd and Combeferre was there to meet him.

 

‘I screwed up the footwork in the middle,’ he said, his mouth slightly twisted in disappointment

 

‘Enj, don’t be an idiot,’ Combeferre told him, giving him a light tap on the cheek with his palm

 

Enjolras laughed at that and shook Combeferre’s hand, and after a moment was pulled into a hug. They sat down to wait for the judge’s marks.  His score put the team in a well-positioned second and well in the running for a medal in the event.

 

Grantaire had watched the exchange, with a heavy feeling in his chest – a pull towards the Iceberg Skating Palace; to want so badly to pull Enjolras into his arms like that and have it feel and look so natural, for Enjolras to be that comfortable that he laughs brightly and openly.

 

 

 

Grantaire, brought back to the present, sighed at the thought, only to receive a punch in the arm from Feuilly, ‘Come on man, it’s the freaking Olympics!’ At least, Feuilly couldn’t read his mind.

 

Rubbing his arm, Grantaire gave Feuilly a plainly forced smile, twisting his face and revealing his teeth.  Feuilly and Bahorel burst into loud laughter, the infectious sort that had even Grantaire joining in. 

 

He finally gave into smiling and pulling faces in Courfeyrac’s selfies, the excitement of being in Sochi finally washing over him, the atmosphere bringing to the forefront the fact that Grantaire was _here_ , again at the Olympics, competing in a sport he loves. 

 

Hell, he could enjoy that, he thought, jumping around with Bahorel and Jehan and laughing – _screw_ Enjolras and his flawless features.

 

Fuck. Actually, scratch that thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a terrible updater  
> i started really well (as usual) and my hubris (and life) got the better of me oopies


	6. Chapter 6

As is the way, the excitement of the Opening Ceremony wore off – soon to be replaced in Grantaire’s mind by the dread of having to compete once again on the world stage.  Not shy in his personality, Grantaire certainly wasn’t one to crave the limelight or even want any of the attention that his sport brought to him.

 

It’s the goddamn _Olympics_ – people are actually watching this!

 

Eponine would joke that Grantaire would make a terrible actor; he would forget all his lines and freeze as soon as he walked onto the stage.

 

‘But this,’ she said, one hand on each of Grantaire’s clothes-layered shoulders in the middle of one of his numerous panics, ‘is easy.  God, R, it’s like breathing to you – you eat this shit up! You can do this; you do it all the time. Get you shit together, you have a week.’

 

 

 

 

Grantaire didn’t have to worry about running into Enjolras around the Village much during the first few days, the skater being occupied with the Teams event. Grantaire couldn’t really care about the Pairs or Womens, but when it came time for the Mens Free skating, Bossuet took pity on him, both going to watch the telecast with about two thirds of Team France. 

 

He found Eponine, Joly and Bahorel sitting together – Jehan had gone to bed early to prepare for his own events, and Feuilly was chatting quietly with some of the Hockey team.

 

All cameras turned to Enjolras; he gestured to the camera, glided out onto the ice, and waited for his music to start.  Combeferre and Courfeyrac were watching from the stands, Combeferre once again chewing his nails.  The music started and Grantaire held his breath.

 

Enjolras was all grace and poise, executing his movements with precision, exactly the way he had gone over it time and time again with Combeferre. It was a routine Grantaire had seen before and one that he would never admit to having memorized. He could see Enjolras preparing for his next combination of the program: axel jump followed by a toe loop jump. The look in his eyes and the way his muscles tightened minutely (much too visible to be legal in his costume).

 

It was halfway through he combination that Grantaire saw it going wrong. He saw it before anyone else did yet was just as shocked when Enjolras over-rotated and stumbled, missing his toe loop and having to regain his balance to simply continue skating. Not a fall, but big deductions there. The crowd in the stadium as well as those watching on television gasped – one that would almost be theatrical if Grantaire wasn’t shattered for the golden man.

 

His posture had changed – still tall and proud, yet his shoulders were tense, his teeth clenched.  Still the best skater by far, viciously tearing himself apart inside – Grantaire could see it, clear as day; he hated the sight more than anything in the world.

 

By the end of the night, France had come sixth.  Enjolras’ stumble was nothing compared to some of the other errors that had occurred but he wouldn’t hear any of it.

‘I shouldn’t have done that, Ferre.  I never do that.’

 

‘Shit happens, Enj, you know that.’

 

‘Yeah, but Jesus, Ferre, I thought we really had a chance.’

 

‘Shake it off, Enjolras, you still have your individual to go – things could be worse and it wasn’t even that bad, okay?  Come on, you need to sleep.’  Combeferre threw an arm around his friend’s shoulder under the guise of consolation. For a second there, Combeferre saw it all going wrong – saw his own injuries played out in front of his eyes. All it would take was a simple stumble and when he saw Enjolras go wrong he almost propelled himself onto the ice, a solid hand on the inside of his elbow from Courfeyrac keeping him seated. Enjolras continued and Combeferre’s heart remembered how to beat, but he needed the arm around Enj’s shoulders to reassure himself. 

 

Everything was okay.

 

He knew Enjolras knew, and he smiled at him in silent thanks for staying quiet about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> may as well finish this eventually - its a bit late but i just love the boys too much


End file.
